


Hunger

by Davechicken, ElDiablito_SF



Series: Paradiso [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Food Porn, M/M, Porn Porn, Scenery Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-10
Updated: 2013-10-10
Packaged: 2017-12-29 01:12:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/999098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElDiablito_SF/pseuds/ElDiablito_SF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Much to the dismay of the Winchesters, Crowley and Castiel are now... dating? The only problem is Heaven is still shut, and it's causing a headache for everyone. Drastic measures are called for, but who could possibly help them take on Metatron?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hunger

Demons didn't need sleep. Humans - unfortunately - did. Crowley supposed it was a blessing of some form because after they'd gone at the last round in Cas' bed and the man had passed out into blissful oblivion it at least made him stop touching him.

Well. After he'd snuggled for a little while and listened to the strangely appealing snorting noises Cas made. He wondered if he should tell him he spoke in his sleep.

When he was sure Cas was out for the time being, he flitted back to Hell. Not because he wanted to be there, but because it was a convenient source of information. He'd been getting strange looks ever since he had started researching how to reopen Heaven. There were a few more leads here… leads he could share with the Wincesters. He set some more 'development' tasks for his minions and then he left. It had been eight hours precisely and he wanted to make sure Cas didn't oversleep.

And Cas never had to know he'd been gone. He slipped back under the covers as easily as he'd left, wrapping around him and giving him the chance to wake up normally before he took drastic action.

Once he'd gotten the hang of it, it turned out sleep had been _glorious_. Of course 'getting the hang of it' often involved being fucked into a stupor by his new... er... lover, Castiel guessed. Sam insisted on calling Crowley his 'boyfriend.' Dean insisted on walking out of the room each time Crowley was mentioned (after painting demon traps all over Cas' bedroom - ‘Just in case’). Cas was just happy he got to fall asleep in Crowley's arms more often than not. Waking up there was an added bonus.

He usually smelled him before he was consciously aware of being fully awake. Crowley smelled like baked goods. It was sort of inexplicable, except to say that it must have been some kind of a totally unfair demonic trick. Cas would stretch like a cat, elongating his neck in order to reach forth with his nose until it struck skin, and inhale happily. Then his other senses would start to kick in and he'd press his arms tighter around the body in between them, smiling contently.

"Mmmm... good morning," Cas mumbled, eyes still closed, voice as rough as if he'd smoked two packs of cigarettes before bed.

It was a good job no one nearby could read minds. Crowley was thinking very un-demonic, not particularly evil thoughts. They didn't bear repeating but would probably not go out of place in the comments section of a youtube video featuring small mammals doing things humans were hardwired to find appealing by evolutionary forces and oxytocin. At least Cas didn't literally shit rainbows. 

As it was the affectionate, but predatory smile said all that needed to be said. Crowley pushed his nose into Cas' hair and replied in kind. "Good morning to you, sunshine. Did you dream of me?"

He decided to be sort of kind and give him the tiniest of chances to come around before the devil in him got the better of him and he rolled Cas onto his back, hand holding his scratchy morning face still as he swallowed any reply with a good-morning kiss. 

Crowley was nothing if not attentive. 

There were disgusting things about being human that Cas hadn't counted on: like the eye boogers which were euphemistically referred to as ‘sleep’ in the corners of his eyes, or morning breath. Fortunately, Crowley didn't seem to mind, or at least did a good enough job pretending not mind, if the enthusiasm of his morning kisses was any indication. Cas opened up for him and inhaled the freshly baked poundcake scent again. Definitely demonic temptation at work. Cas spread his thighs before it even registered and felt Crowley's body slide comfortably in between his legs.

Coming from Hell straight here meant it literally felt like Heaven. Certainly was better than it had been back when he was mortal: damnation gave you a fresh perspective on life and your priorities. 

Crowley kissed with the languid push of familiarity. He knew Cas wanted this - wanted him - and so the fear was mostly muted to a tiny voice at the back of his head. Once he'd stroked the taste of himself back into Cas' mouth, he pulled back to smile down at him. He was propped up on one arm, chest to chest. He'd taken the liberty of stripping first. No sense in wearing things just to take them off again. 

Between them, Cas certainly seemed to agree. Crowley was glad Cas' vessel-cum-body seemed to get with the picture as often as it did. He rocked against him, sliding dick-to-dick. "Are you hungry?"

Which had so many layers of meaning.

Cas looked down to the point where their bodies were connecting under the sheets, mouth beginning to water at the not-so-subtle proposition. He stretched his arms down to the place where he could grope Crowley's ass to his satisfaction and smiled blissfully.

"I am... starving."

It was supposed to be a double entendre, unfortunately, Cas' stomach growled loudly to emphasize the biological needs coming before the needs of the flesh.

"Ignore him," Cas whispered, referring to the evil gnome inside his belly.

“Ignore… ‘him’?” Crowley peeked down between them, ostensibly to check out Cas’ belly, but also because he got to check Cas’ very nice dick out in the process. He made a show of grinding against it again. And another time. For good measure. 

“...would you rather I make you some triangular sandwiches, or did you have something else in mind?” Because Crowley totally did.

Cas pulled Crowley’s head down into another kiss, sighing contently into it, accompanying it with an upwards thrust of his hips.

“Something else,” he breathed, releasing Crowley’s mouth. “Food can wait.”

Crowley let one hand wander down - dancing down Cas’ side - drumming slowly over his hip. They trickled up and over and beat out the tempo to some half-remembered song over Cas’ straining cock. 

“That’s good. Because I’m hungry for something else, too.” To illustrate it, he hefted them both in one hand, gripping firmly. It was an acquired skill, jacking two off at once, and Crowley was intent on acquiring it to perfection. The pads of his fingertips chasing the lines of blood flow, encouraging it to thrum up and in. Thumb teasing his own foreskin, pushing it up and down. Mornings made him lazy. He wasn’t sure why, but they did.

“Because I was thinking…” teeth scraping over the strong line of his jaw, “...of some fluffy Angel Delight…” tongue dipping into the hollow at the base of his throat and over his Adam’s apple, “...whipped… soft… sugary…” Teeth closing over the joint between neck and shoulder, sucking a hot, pink mark up between his teeth and lips.

“Whipped?” Cas chuckles softly into the hair of Crowley’s head, and gasps at the little waves of pleasure coursing up from the teeth and the heat of his mouth. “I’m decidedly no longer thinking about dessert.” He was hoping to get some quality play time in before eventually having to emerge to face the Winchester music.

Crowley kept teasing the soft skin of Cas’ neck. It was going to mark. It was going to be visible. He would like to lie and say it wasn’t in part about marking his territory in front of other men, but it would be lying. It was also to pull those moans and groans from Cas. Cas was usually forthcoming about his vocal appreciation, which was something Crowley appreciated intensely.

He licked wetly over the mark, letting it dry slowly in the air. He stared at the glistening, slick skin. God he loved doing this. “I bet you’d like whipping,” Crowley mused, twirling his hand up and down. Up and down. “Self-flagellation was invented by the religious, wasn’t it? Surely wasn’t invented by the damned.” His hand moved up so just his palm rubbed over the head of each cock, using his weight to hold them in place. 

Crowley squirmed down a little, letting go of his own cock temporarily for a good cause. A good cause which entailed him peppering his lips down to Cas’ chest, breathing over one nipple but doing nothing else, yet.

“Perhaps,” Cas exhaled and felt his breath catch again. He wasn’t one to say ‘No’ to a new experience and, so far, every little love game he’s played with Crowley had turned out to be gratifying, to say the least. He tried to arch off the bed, hoping to place the awakened, pink nub into his demon’s mouth, if he insisted on being such a tease about it. “Don’t stop,” he frowned down at Crowley, prodding him with the heel of his foot.

“Maybe we can borrow some nice toys from your boys,” Crowley wondered. “Or should I just bring them straight from Hell? It’s hard to say which are the _nastier_ implements. Possibly I should try both on you and have you make up your own mind…”

The impatient little foot made him laugh internally again. Cas was very needy when he was turned on. Crowley might be in love with him, but he was still a demon, and if torturing him through sensation denial was the worst he could do to him, then he’d have to cope with that.

“...you want me to keep breathing on you? I can do that…” He pursed his lips and blew a cold gust over Cas’ nipple. It was colder than a human would manage. He never felt guilty for abusing his powers for sexual gain. It was why he had taken the powers in the first place, so it was only fitting.

Castiel squirmed. The sensation was simultaneously _coldhotyesfuck_ and he felt blood rushing furiously into his cock, filling it up even more. He was painfully hard now and he missed the velvety slide of flesh trapped between Crowley’s palm and his own swollen member.

“You suck, Crowley,” he managed, voice becoming whinier than he would have ever admit lest anyone call him a baby again. To emphasize his point, he sank his blunt fingernails into the fleshy ass underneath the palm of his hand. 

“Maybe in a minute, I will,” Crowley growled, his eyes going slightly unfocused at the fingernails digging sharp points of pleasure-pain into his ass. 

A hand on either side of Cas, he dropped his head down to trace a too-hot tongue over Cas’ nipple. He flicked it hard, gratified by the pranging sensation. So much so, that he did it again. Harder. Faster. Then he made his tongue a rigid line and drew tiny little circles around it, before forming a seal with his lips and sucking. Hard. Very hard. Two could play at the pain game, and he knew Cas would be imagining other things inside his mouth right now.

“Hnnnng, not fair,” Cas moaned, his breath coming in quick succession as if he was trying to keep something from bursting out. It may not have been fair, the use of supernatural abilities for sexual enjoyment, but Cas wasn’t as peeved about it as he let on. He grabbed the back of Crowley’s head and pressed his face closer to his own chest, as he likely would have done had Crowley’s clever little mouth been elsewhere. It hurt so good, Cas let his eyes roll into the back of his head. He was so _sensitive_ there, it was uncanny, and Crowley knew that so - double bastard. “God, _fuck_! If you don’t quit this teasing, I swear I will deny you my ass for a month.”

Crowley’s teeth nipped hard and he sucked his cheeks hollow. It was hard to laugh with your mouth full, but he did. It sent the low rumble of his amusement through Cas’ chest. When he deigned to lift his head up to meet Castiel’s eyes, he looked utterly unperturbed. 

“Cas… there’s more than just your ass I can use.” His eyes straggled over Cas’ mouth. “And we both know you’d last half a day before you begged me for more.”

Still, he was a little faster with the attention he paid to Mr. Righty. Crowley believed in fraternity, equality, liberty, etc., etc. Or more accurately, he believed in making Cas want to hit him so when they did fuck it was even more electric.

And Cas definitely wanted to hit him, kick him even, possibly, if what he was doing with his feet was any indication of his militant intent. The pads of his toes were digging into Crowley’s calves with the same needy tenacity as Cas’ fingers were digging into the flesh of his ass, it was as if he wanted to claw at him with every little claw available. It must have been frustrating having a limited number of appendages after being what Cas had been at one time. Now, however, he was an octopus, trying to suck Crowley into the vortex of his body with his grasping tentacles. And also stabbing him in the stomach, quite viciously, with his smaller (relative to an arm) tentacle.

“Fuck me,” Cas said, surprisingly calmly, and stabbed again. “Fuck me now,” he added, pulling Crowley up by the hair and clamping his own mouth and teeth around his demon’s neck, sucking with flourishing gusto. Then, he moved on to Crowley’s lips, fucking into his mouth with his own tongue. “Dammit, fuck me,” another stab and a smouldering look from under the frown lines of Cas’ perfectly arched eyebrows.

Crowley had planned on being more of a shit. There were things you could do with your fingers and tongue to a man that would have them speaking in tongues long-dead, even if they weren’t an ex Cheerleader of the Lord. He had specifically been working on a co-ordinated regime for just such a situation, complete with backing music and sparkles. Okay not really sparkles. But the music… maybe.

...but Cas going all feral and bitey and growly was just… precious. It jolted through the lazy-morning feeling and made everything _blaze_. He grabbed Cas’ hands and pushed them up to the headboard, wrapping his fingers around the conveniently located bars. Then he grabbed Cas’ hips and lifted them up, grinding hard against his ass. “You’re such a needy little slut,” he said, voice coloured with affection. “And here I was going to show you a nice, romantic time. But all you want me for is my cock, isn’t it, Cassie?”

“No, I want you for your pure and beautiful soul,” Cas snickered, not really knowing where that sass came from. Maybe each time Crowley came inside him, a little part got integrated into Cas’ own molecular make-up. Whatever it was, he liked it. With his hands still restrained, the only this he could was cant his hips upwards, delivering another blow with his nether-sword. “Fuck it, you want me to beg some more, don’t you? I’ll beg. Just get _on_ with it already! I smell bacon. That means…”

They both knew what that meant. The Mother Hens were awake.

“Crowley,” Cas’ voice was admonishing. “Don’t even think about it,” his mouth said, but his eyes clearly said _My ass isn’t going to fuck itself, you know._

“You’re thinking with your stomach again,” Crowley admonished him. “I can’t believe you’d be thinking of bacon instead of the sausages we have.” Another teasing rut against his ass. “Do you want me to ask Dean to deliver breakfast in bed? He could feed it to you while I feed your other end…”

He did, however, reach down to slide two fingers into Cas. The man was still reasonably relaxed from sleep and the gratuitously rough fucking the night before. Didn’t hurt - hah - to scissor him slowly open though. 

“Oh…. _Deaaaaaan_...” Crowley called out.

Cas’ eyes flew open and, just as he was clenching down onto Crowley’s fingers, he let his hand fly too - _thwack_. It probably wouldn’t do much damage, but it felt nice seeing the look on Crowley’s face as Cas’ hand connected with his cheek.

“Don’t take my first love’s name in vain,” Cas said with the most evil grin he could have _possibly_ concocted. 

“I thought that was ‘God’, Cas? My, you _were_ a bad angel.” It hadn’t done much damage, but the sting of it was good. As was the devilment in Cas’ eyes. It was for that alone that he’d been provoking him.

He snapped the fingers not currently residing in Cas’ back passage, and the man’s hands flew back up to the headboard and this time handcuffs clamped them in place to prevent further slappage. “Besides. You left him for me. He must have been _terrible_ in the sack.” 

Which was the perfect cue to grab his hips and lift and drop them down so gravity bore Cas down over his cock. Sure he was bending physics a bit to make it easier on him, but damnation had to have its perks after all.

“Oh, fucking _finally_ ,” Cas groaned, the heat from the penetration slowly spreading up into his other limbs. He shut his eyes and let the pleasure flow through him. It was ridiculous that he had to invoke _Dean_ to get Crowley to get with the program, and he wondered idly whether his friend would object to being used as a sexual tantalizer. Cas’ legs were still free though, so he wrapped them around Crowley’s waist and pushed him in further.

“I’m going to have to give you lessons in patience, Cas, my little nymphomaniac. Maybe next time I’ll gag you so I can’t hear you whining while I introduce you to a little thing called _orgasm denial_.” Crowley’s grin got even wider. 

It also helped that Cas’ ass nicely snuggled his dick. His ass was so very, very nice. Inside and out. Crowley could wax lyrical over it, or he could get some leverage on the bed and start to build up the pace. Could start to slide in and out, balls hitting that perfectly sculpted piece of posterior. He hummed a merry little tune to himself as he worked away. 

“No!” Cas yelped, thinking he wasn’t into any kind of ‘denial’ anymore, he’d denied himself enough, and look where that got him. (Well, arguably, at this particular moment - well and thoroughly fucked.) “Yes!” The affirmation was in regards to a particularly well-aimed thrust, that suddenly had the former angel seeing metaphorical stars on the white-washed ceiling. 

He could still smell the bacon and his stomach still gave off those strange little ‘Send Help!’ noises. He didn’t know what was the proper protocol for this kind of thing: he wanted to get off and quickly - because he also wanted food. But he _also_ also wanted Crowley to fuck him into a profound oblivion and over a prodigiously long time. This was a predicament.

“God, yes!” he moaned again, feeling the stretch and fill, the room becoming filled only with the sound of his own moans and that sound of flesh slapping against flesh, balls against ass, over and over again. It was obscene and simultaneously arousing - that sound. “You’re so good at this,” Cas moaned, eyes opened wide in disbelief, as if after all this time it still came as a surprise. “God, don’t stop!”

“Cas… I _am_ King,” Crowley scoffed. “I think a little thing like fucking you senseless should be par for the course.” Even if he liked being told how good he was. It was a matter of personal pride, after all.

However at least part of it was how damn much he enjoyed doing it in the first place. Crowley didn’t remember ever being so utterly horny that he would sneak around whenever he could just to get some. And he was doing it one hell of a lot. Cas just made him permanently hyper-sexed, and it wasn’t like he was complaining about it. Even Hell had noticed the change in his temperament. 

Crowley leaned forwards, brushing his lips over Cas’. “Would you like me to make this… really good?”

Cas quirked his eyebrow and held his breath. He was too flushed and far, far too horny to even contemplate a cogent reply. So he just nodded vociferously.

That was close enough, Crowley figured. He pecked gently at the corner of his mouth, staying close to swallow all the hiccupy little breaths as he went faster. Faster. Harder. Tilted Cas’ hips to go deeper. He knew just how to make it good for him. Knew precisely how he liked this. He’d been gauging his reactions ever since the first time, to work out what touched his lover’s buttons, and he’d filed it all away for later use. Like now. When he pressed his palm flat into Cas’ belly as he fucked him. Pressed down hard and sent a warm, radiating heat out into him. It was cheating, but he was a demon, and he didn’t remember there being codified rules on getting your rocks off. 

“Then why don’t you come for me?” he purred, lips going from mouth up to his temple as he spoke. Hand slapping down to grab Cas’ cock and jerk him off with furious need even as he threw everything else he had into pounding the man’s ass into a week on Tuesday. 

It felt like a blooming flame from the tip of Crowley’s cock, Cas knew no other way of describing it when his lover did that - when he burned him deep, deep inside, and Cas could swear that he felt the very letters of the demon’s name - C-R-O-W-L-E-Y - being branded into some invisible part of him with each stroke. And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy being Crowley’s bitch.

He opened his mouth but only a short “Ah!” came out of it, and Cas knew he was about to spill. But he wanted more. “Come _in_ me,” he whispered into Crowley’s mouth, taking his lips between his teeth again.

Crowley’s bitch Cas might be, but on the other hand it was hard for the demon to resist a single thing Cas wanted. Especially when he was so whimpery and hungry and fucked out of his brains and pretty and Cas and… shit. 

Crowley shoved his tongue into Cas’ mouth at the exact same moment he let himself let go. Sliding into the dark, warm depths as his cock splashed deep and happy inside him. It was too divine a feeling for him to be feeling it, and sooner or later the world would catch on and snatch this last, perfect bliss from him. But for now, he could come in his lover. He could moan brokenly into his mouth as he slammed one last time and wriggled and gripped his cock tighter than would normally be recommended.

Cas felt his own cock pulsating in Crowley’s grasp as he shot thick, white streaks in between both their chests. He hadn’t been quiet, not even with Crowley’s tongue shoved inside his mouth like some sort of a makeshift gag, and he was probably a bad person for not giving a shit. A great sigh of satisfied completion escaped him, and he slowly lowered his legs from where they were still wrapped like a vise around Crowley’s hips. He was at that point where he didn’t even feel sore afterwards, his muscles becoming accustomed to this daily (sometimes more than daily) exercise.

Just as Cas thought momentarily about drifting off back to sleep, the gnome in his stomach made himself known again with a loud growl. 

“Damn you, rude!” Cas mumbled to his body.

Crowley laughed. “Okay, fine. I get the picture, Cas. Let’s get you cleaned up and feed you, before you try to gnaw my foot off…”

***

“Hey, Cas, you’re just in time if you want to grab a sandwich I made enough for…” Sam looked up from his own sandwich and his eyebrows carried on going up to meet his hairline. “Uhm. For you. And… Crowley?”

“I hope there’s coffee going, too,” Crowley replied smoothly, sauntering over to the dining table and sitting next to Dean. Legs spread on the chair, knee knocking into Dean’s. The silky black bathrobe he was wearing barely covered his modesty and it fell mostly open over his chest. “Because I would kill for a nice Columbian roast right about now.”

Dean almost choked on his bread and tried to cover it up with a nonchalant little coughing fit. 

“Cas…” he grumbled. “What did I say about having company over for breakfast?”

“If you’re worried about space,” Cas said rather saucily, sauntering over to the table, “I can just sit on his lap,” and plopping into Crowley’s lap, as threatened. He gave Dean a look of feigned innocence.

“Seriously? It’s not bad enough that you’re boinking the King of Hell, but now he…. you… the both of you?” Dean gazed over at Sam, helplessly. “A little help here!”

Crowley wrapped his arms around Cas and growled happily into his lover’s neck. He still smelled of morning sex and just silky, soft fabric between his dick and Cas’ delicious ass was doing terrible, wonderful, wicked things to his hindbrain. He pulled Cas in tighter and tried not to moan _too_ loudly.

“I’ll buy the coffee when we all go out on a double date,” Crowley offered, between kisses on Cas’ neck. “And don’t worry. I will treat your lovely daughter well. I’ll make sure she’s back before she turns into a pumpkin and you won’t have any grandchildren to worry about.”

Sam pushed up from the table and went over to make up coffee and sandwiches as promised. His eyes were twinkling in amusement. “I got nothing, Dean. Seriously. Nothing. Uhm… how do you take your coffee?”

“Black like my soul,” Crowley purred. “Thank you, Moose.”

Cas didn't mean to make Dean suffer quite so much, but the looks and eyerolls the hunter was producing were priceless. 

"And I'd like mine with lots of cream, thanks, Sam," Cas announced cheerfully, watching Dean squirm. 

"TMI," Dean muttered into his sandwich. 

From over by the coffee pot came the sounds of someone trying very hard not to choke laughing. It turned into a coughing fit.

“So, boys, did you sleep well?” Crowley asked.

“Uhm. Sure,” Sam said, putting two cups of coffee on the table. “Thanks. Or something.”

"I would've slept with one eye open and my ass to the wall, had I known YOU were around," Dean grumbled, poignantly refusing to look at the lovebirds. "Cas, why must you erase the Devil traps?"

"Because I like it when Crowley uses his powers for sex," Cas explained casually, taking the coffee from Sam. Dean almost choked again. 

“Dean, much as I’m flattered,” Crowley said, lifting his head from the little kisses he was busy smooching noisily into Cas’ neck, “I’m a one-man demon. If only I’d known you cared before I fell in love with Castiel…”

“SO,” Sam interrupted, before Dean could get too pissed off. “Is this just a social call? Because… well it’s nice you’re not trying to kill us at the moment, and all, but it’s also a bit weird to have you dropping by like this…”

“Actually, yes. Not that I turn down any opportunity to see my snookums,” Crowley said, with another squeeze of Cas into his crotch. “I’ve had my guys working non-stop on a way to send all the pigeons back to roost, and there’s been an interesting development. Not long after your good friend the Metatron went AWOL, several others from the angelic order of boring duties did. I haven’t got the Voice, but I do have a lead on the Filing Clerk.”

“Okay,” Dean spoke, appearing marginally appeased. “Now you’re talking.” His eyes shifted to Crowley’s hand, where the demon was absentmindedly caressing the skin of Castiel’s thigh underneath the robe. “What’s the scoop on this Filing Clerk?” he grit through his teeth.

Cas turned and mouthed at Crowley’s earlobe. “Why have you been keeping secrets from me?” he purred.

“Because I was too busy whispering sweet nothings in your ear whilst you fantasised about bacon and other meat produce,” Crowley answered, tilting his head to allow for more touching.

“Uhm… much as it’s nice to see you two getting along and all,” Sam joined in, “...you have, like, all night to be cute and coupley. And if we save the world again you can have even more time together.”

Crowley sighed melodramatically. “Fine. Hadraniel is his name. By all accounts he was a bit of a bitch before he went missing, and he didn’t get along all that well with Moses. He was responsible for archiving all the divine commandments - probably as punishment for his backchat - and if anyone still kicking can tell us about how to undo the current predicament, it would be him.”

“And he is…?” Sam asked.

“Currently in Paris. And going by the amusingly uncreative name of Hadrian.”

“I remember him,” Cas mused, a smile spreading across his face. “I believe he’s a bit of, um, what you might call - a queen.”

“Great, just what I was lacking in my life - another gay angel,” Dean threw his hands up in surrender.

“We’re not gay, Dean, we technically are genderless. Although you may have forgotten since it’s been at least a year since you’ve referred to me as ‘junkless,’” Cas sniped, taking a sip of his (creamy as fuck) coffee. He considered punishing Dean for that remark by more public displays of affection, but then he glanced over at Sam and relented. He squeezed Crowley’s hand and slid off his lap, almost demurely, and onto a nearby chair. “So,” he turned back towards his demon, “What can Hadraniel do for us in this case?”

Crowley touched Cas’ leg just once to say secretly that he was okay with that and he wasn’t actually butt-hurt, but only where the two hunters couldn’t see. “So. Amongst other things, the scriptures talk about him having knowledge of the book of Raziel, which is some sort of angelic teenage diary full of super-secret information and probably crappy love poetry. And if he knows about that, who knows what else he remembers? He’s literally the only angel I can find trace of who might know how we do this thing.”

“And you think we can get him to get on board?” Sam asked. “Cas… what kind of leverage do we have on him? Or… is it going to be a case of Good Human, Bad Demon when we get to him?”

Cas was going to make a snide remark about possibly having Dean torture him, but he decided, kindly, that his bff has had enough mental trauma for one morning.

“Well the Hadrian I’ve found,” Crowley deigned to explain, “is now working as an art curator, procurer, you name it. Surrounding himself in all the pretty, sparkly, shiny things he can. I’ve got a few baubles of my own… but I suspect that he’s more than just Hadrian in name. If you catch my drift…”

“You think… you think he’s the historical Hadrian? I mean, the… Roman dude?” Sam asked.

“There’s nothing gets past you, is there, Moose?”

“Right, so when I said ‘queen’ what I should have said was apparently ‘Emperor,’” Cas muttered, bordering on stupefied.

“Should we even be doing this in the first place?” Dean interjected. “You saw how brilliantly your original plan worked for finding Metatron and trying to get _him_ involved with the Divine planning again. Who’s to say this Hadraniel, or whatever, is going to be any less petty, or any more helpful?” 

Cas frowned at the small pang of guilt in his gut. He still wanted to personally defenestrate Metatron from the celestial window. Something about the memory of being taken advantage of like that, because he had been weak, because Dean made him feel like shit again, lower than shit, made Castiel’s blood boil. If Dean hadn’t been such a perpetual dick to him, maybe none of this would have ever happened.

“You know, for people who screw up so much, perhaps you should have changed your last name from ‘Winchester’ to ‘Losechester.’” Oops. He said that outloud. He should not have said that outloud. Crap. Maybe fucking Crowley _was_ rubbing off on him?

Crowley kissed two of his fingers and placed them gently on Cas’ lips. “Touche,” he said, not unkindly. “But I think we can all admit there’s not one of us around here who hasn’t made a mistake. Even if some of us make them more than others…” He shrugged. “The way I see it,” Crowley went on, “we have two choices. Either we hide in here and get pizza delivered indefinitely and spend all our time making merry… which has plenty of draws to it, of course… or we do something to stop the current World War Angel currently traipsing around the globe. I haven’t heard of any plan better than mine, and I would rather not be sacrificed for Apocalypse Now. We lose nothing by _talking_ to him. Doesn’t mean we do anything when we have spoken to him. Just… means we know more.”

“Well, you’re right that we don’t have a current lead,” Sam admitted. “I can do some research here with the books, see if there’s anything we can use on him when we do find him.”

Dean stared agape at the two love-dovey _assholes_ in front of him, eyes shooting from one to the other. It was like Cas was turning into Crowley Light and the King of Hell was somehow becoming Diet Cas. It was actually kind of sickening while being utterly entrancing.

“Alright. We have ourselves a plan,” Crowley said, draining the last of his coffee. “I can make all the arrangements for us to go tomorrow. Now you three can all fly if you want, but I can also whisk you there myself if you don’t mind flying Air Hell.”

Dean made the thinking sturgeon face that Cas was secretly so fond of and nodded in consent. Apparently Air Hell was preferable to him than being on a real airplane. 

“I’ll stock up on some prunes, in case Air Hell is anything like Angel Zap-lin.” He grinned proudly at his own punny. Cas smiled, remembering the time Dean expressed indignation at his inability to poop due to all the zapping. Now, unfortunately, he was too well-versed with the unpleasant consequences of constipation. Humanity was really disgusting.

“So, what are we doing until tomorrow then?” Cas looked over at Crowley and batted his eyelashes slowly at the demon.

“Awww _really_?” Dean slammed his empty cup down and got up from the table, grabbing his jacket from the coat hanger. “You two - whatever. I’m going out. Sammy, you coming too or are you staying here and videotaping this?”

“If you’re going to film us,” Crowley said, even as he stared intently at his angel, “then you have to put some appropriate mood music in the background and give me a copy for… times when Castiel is too busy sleeping to--”

“OKAY, TIME WE GO,” Sam butted in before they could get any more graphic. “I think we have some… shoes. Shoes to buy. Or something. I mean. For Paris.” He was two steps behind Dean.

“Make sure you bring back cream, too,” Crowley added. “Have to make sure my Cas is sufficiently nourished. You know how he forgets to look after himself and has to be fed by hand…”

The door slammed with a resonation to rival thunder.

***

Duck confit was completely worth getting demon-zapped to Paris for. Cas did not think he could ever like anything as much as he loved bacon cheeseburgers, until something delectably fatty and covered in plum-sauce descended into his mouth. When Crowley had told him to close his eyes, open his mouth, and think of Heaven, he, quite frankly, expected to end up with a mouthful of cock. The duck confit was a… pleasant surprise, even if a bit of a disappointment at first!

“So… I’m guessing they weren’t taking good care of you before I came along,” Crowley said, wiping his thumb over the tiny little dribble of plum sauce that had escaped Castiel’s enthusiastic chewing and swallowing. His eyes drawn to the rhythmic working of his throat as he swallowed. “I mean, you’ve barely been human and they don’t show you the high life? I’m so disappointed in them. Even if it means I get to spoil you rotten myself.”

He peeked his tongue out to lick the sauce from his thumb, making sure Cas’ eyes were on his as he did so. And taking longer over doing it than was necessary. 

“The Winchesters aren’t exactly about the high life,” Cas mumbled, eyes on that delectable mouth, torn between wanting more duck and to feel those lips on him. “Well, maybe Sam might enjoy it. In fact, he’s probably at the Louvre right now.” He paused and contemplated this. “Dean must be cruising _Le Quartier Latin_ for chicks. More duck, please.”

Crowley pulled off another section with his fingers and held it to Cas’ mouth. He drew it softly over his lower lip before he let his lover take it, liking to make him work just a little for his supper. 

“If you like, I can sneak you into all the important cultural places at night. We could do a little tango in front of old Mona and see if we can make her smile…” He picked up another piece of duck. The sooner Cas was done with the fowl, the sooner they could get onto the truffles and the sooner they could get onto truffles the sooner he could get onto Cas. He was _trying_ to be patient and attentive. He was. Really.

“I thought you said that was the fake Mona. The real one was naked and in Hell somewhere,” Cas wiggled his eyebrows. “Not that I’d mind the tango.” He chewed slowly, letting the pleasure radiate through his facial features. “Mmmm, this is… sensational.” He swallowed and pulled Crowley in for a bonus nibble of his own, teeth and tongue gently stroking the plump tumescence of his demon’s lower lip.

“I’m not taking you to Hell, Cas, so the fake Mona will have to do…” 

Crowley let Cas pull him in. He even let him take the lead for the moment, because it cost him nothing to let Cas kiss him. To be fair, none of this trip had cost him anything because he’d whammied all the staff into thinking he’d paid, but he wasn’t going to tell the Winchesters in case they got sudden attacks of conscience or something. He opened his mouth and touched his tongue to Cas’, trying to encourage him to push a little himself. There was no such thing as pride when it came to swapping saliva.

Maybe it was the duck, or maybe the Volnay from Hospice de Beaune had gone to his head, but whatever it was, Cas suddenly felt profoundly sybaritic and, hmmm, rather priapic. He pulled Crowley closer and wrapped one leg around his waist, not being shy about letting his emerging needs becoming known. 

“I think a situation has arisen that requires your immediate attention,” he whispered in between kisses.

“So you don’t want the very nice _marc de champagne_ truffles?” Crowley asked, even as he snapped his fingers and moved the remnants of the duck out of the way. No sense in getting plum sauce in places he didn’t want plum sauce to go.

He hovered over Cas, nose bumping his, speaking his words close enough to tickle Cas’ lips. He moved one knee between Cas’ legs and allowed Cas to hump him to his heart’s content. “...does Sir have any…” kiss on the lips, “...requests?”

Cas craned his neck to look over at the corner table with the truffles on them, a frown of confusion coloring his features. “But the things will melt,” he muttered, then felt Crowley’s lips on the tendons of his neck. “Eh, fuck it.” He craned his neck, presenting it in all its elongated glory to his lover. “You can eat the truffles, or you can eat me. Chef’s choice.”

“Decisions, decisions…” Crowley mused, weighing up his options. Both of them sounded good. Both of them sounded delicious. He nibbled Cas’ throat a few more times for good measure as he tried to work out what he wanted most.

“...how about,” he offered, “you eat the truffles, while I eat you? It would be a shame to see them go to waste. And you make such lovely noises when you have something rich in your mouth…”

Crowley started to walk backwards on the bed, trailing kisses over Cas’ lovely torso as he went. They were probably never going to find that angel because they kept being distracted by all the myriad ways they could make one another scream.

Cas pulled at the veritable treasure trove of the pillows above his head, propping one up behind him - there was no reason to be uncomfortable, and he did so enjoy watching Crowley _work_. He found himself in an ever mounting state of arousal, sliding in between the velvet of the throws upon the bed and the velvet-like brushes of Crowley’s lips. Nevertheless, he could at least _attempt_ to multitask.

“So… er… You think Hadrian will be showing up at Les Deux Magots tonight, as planned?”

Crowley kissed just under Cas’ belly-button, then breathed in deeply. The man reeked of sexual contentment and it was a nice smell on him. Much nicer than other smells. He closed his eyes and rubbed his cheek against the nice, proud tent-pole, a hand on each hip to hold him still as he did.

“I think it’s about the only place we’re likely to get him to come to, yes,” Crowley agreed. Wondering why Cas was trying to distract him when he was this close to having fun. “He seems to be… fond of his image. And appealing to his ego is enough to make any angel come out of hiding…”

Enough talking for right now. Keeping his teeth firmly back, he used just his lips to tug at the soft skin of his nutsack, whilst his scratchy cheek dragged over Cas’ cock. “Why?” he asked, and nipped very carefully.

“Can’t really imagine Dean at the finest restaurant in Paris,” Cas mused and bit his lower lip at the feel of Crowley’s nipping at his tender bits. “I hear they have really good _boeuf tartare_. Maybe we can have more meat, after all the meat,” he winked down at Crowley. “Also, let’s try not to destroy the entire place if things go sour. What do you say?” Cas moved his thighs to drape them over Crowley’s shoulders, a movement which brought the situation even more to the forefront, so to speak. 

“I’ll make sure we get him dressed in something other than denim before we go in,” Crowley answered, wondering why the fuck Dean was coming ‘up’ in bed again. Probably to make him jealous again. “Or we can leave him outside with a bowl of water and leash him to the fence…? I promise nothing about the building. My own - and yours of course - arse comes first. Well. _In_ your arse. And then come the cultural masterpieces. Or _us in_ the cultural masterpieces and anyone would think you don’t want me to eat you right now?”

His tongue snuck out and scraped all along the underside of Cas’ nicely pink _saucisson sec_. He paused at the tip, squirming it under the very head to make Cas’ legs shake. 

It worked. Cas’ breath caught in his throat and his mind told him it was decidedly neither the time nor the place for discussion potential battle strategy. Although… the thought of Dean with a dog collar and leash sent a surprise jolt of energy to his already rather energized boner. He wondered idly whether he should share this thought with Crowley, given that any such full disclosure would land him with a tanned hide and getting furiously fucked while chained to the four posts of the bed. Therefore…

“Can I be the one carrying the leash with the Dean on it?” The smile on Castiel’s face was nothing if not the epitome of evil.

Now that made an already appealingly degrading mental image even more attractive. However Crowley was not about to let Castiel know that, and he had his own image to maintain. The hands on Cas' hips grew punishingly tight. His lips wrapped around the helmet atop his lap-rocket and his cheeks hollowed as he sucked. Hard.

And when Cas was done bucking from the over-stimulation, Crowley let go and glared up his torso at his lover. It was difficult to look reproachful when crouched on all fours between his thighs, but somehow he had the grace to pull it off.

"No," he replied. "But only so you don't commit the Biblical sin of coveting your neighbour's ass. Sam will be holding the leash. You will be under the table with your mouth full while I talk business like a grown-up."

He wasn't going to do any more nice things until Cas made it up to him. Or begged. Or both. He pretend-sulked where he crouched. 

"Um... more suck, please, _mon amour_?" Cas gave Crowley a look that was somewhere in between saucy and coy. He wasn't above begging but he also liked to see Crowley riled up.

"Say 'pretty please', and remember I got you those truffles to keep your mouth shut."

He. Looked arch. He wanted more convincing. Mostly because it was sexy as all hell. 

Cas pressed his thighs gently around Crowley's neck.

"Pretty please, with Crowley on top? Or on the bottom, or wherever Crowley wants to be." He reached down to run his fingers through Crowley's hair. "And maybe feed me truffles you promised me while you're at it?"

Yeah. Paris: it was really growing on Cas.

"Crowley does not do 'bottom'," he declared, leaning into the head-scritches like a cat. "And you can't even feed yourself? What _is_ the world coming to?"

Still. One of the truffles floated up to dangle just out of Cas' reach teasingly, even as he snaked his tongue out and began to lap diligently over the nicely prominent lay-lines thrumming blood through Cas' nethers. Dainty little lick-lick-licks which took no prisoner. He breathed in the scent of him and bit back his own moan. Cas was delicious enough to swallow whole. 

Cas snaked out his own, somewhat obscenely long, tongue and tried to snatch the truffle from the air. His head fell backwards in the abortive attempt, however, he did receive some attention from Crowley's mouth which was rapidly taking his mind off the airborne piece of confection. " _Oh_ ," Cas moaned, impressed with his own eloquence. He pressed the backs of his thighs into Crowley's shoulders again, using him to leverage his hips off the bed in an attempt to thrust further into the teasing mouth. "I... uh... _hmmmm_... oh _God_..." His head rolled back and forth against the billowing of pillows. "Help," he moaned, almost pathetically, not really sure himself whether he needed the chocolate to drop into his mouth or if he needed his cock to be sucked harder.

Crowley let the chocolate fall because he wanted to hear Cas moaning from pleasure on two fronts. He rubbed his thumbs into the squishy underparts of Cas' thighs. The only problem with using your mouth was being incapable of witty banter as you did. Oh well.

A wet, flat-tongued draw of his tongue over Cas's balls first then Crowley zig-zagged his way up to the tip. He teased mercilessly at the slit, swallowing down the nice juices Cas was making to keep him fed, and then with his lips as firm as he could make them, he sunk down over Cas' very nice baguette, purring deep in his throat as he let Cas all the way inside. It was cheating but who gave a fuck? Crowley didn't, as he worked his throat around him and started to trace two fingers over his helpfully exposed ass in the process. 

The chocolate filled Castiel's mouth with a finely honed bitter-sweetness as it melted, causing him to moan softly as the flavors unfurled on his tongue. But when he felt the hum around his throbbing cock as Crowley deepthroated him, he thought he might actually lose it right then and there. Crowley sucked cock like his very existence depended on it, like Cas' bone was foie gras wrapped in bacon wrapped in delicious souls of virgins or something. Cas clasped his fingers tighter in his lover's hair and bucked up into the tightening channel of his talented throat.

"Ohhhhhh fuckkkkkk, you really know how to show a guy a good time," he squeezed out as he shut his eyes tightly and tried not to think about where Crowley learned to do that.

Crowley chuckled at Cas' responses. He liked to be appreciated. He liked it a lot. He swallowed hard and the obscene squelchy noise just spurred him on further.

Now sure he had Cas' attention, he flew another little ball of sugar up to his mouth. Cas had less concentration and focus than him these days, and it was a fun game called 'try to drive Cas into a quivering wreck'. When he was sure Cas' mouth opened to the pornographic stroke of sweets on lips, he pushed two warm, slick, blunt fingers into him even as he bobbed furiously up and down. He loved feeling Cas' cock slide into him and he loved how he could feel every tiny little spasm when he did this. Loved the way it felt when it hit the back of his throat. Loved the involuntary tell-tale way Cas' toes curled up and loved when Cas grabbed his head and tried to ride his face.

It just made Crowley suck him harder still. Made him remind Cas that he didn't need air. All he needed was Cas. And he was determined to get it, going from teasing to rabid-bunny sucking in less time than a formula one car took to pull away from the starting line. 

"Sweet mother of... _fuck_ ," Cas exclaimed as he felt himself being breached, choosing vulgarity in favor of a litany of blasphemies about to escape his mouth. He swallowed, chocolate coating his throat, and keened again at the feel of Crowley's sentient fingers finding that spot inside him that he was always so good at locating. "God... fuck... I'm gonna..." It just felt too good to hold back, his entire body strumming as if he was just a guitar for Crowley's fingers (and mouth) to play. With one last thrust of his hips, he started to unload down his demonic lover's throat, his mouth opened as wide as his eyes from a scream that would not come. 

If he had to choose between all the food and drink in the world, or the taste of his lover when he came apart and exploded in his mouth... well Crowley would have a hard time picking. On the one hand: Cas. On the other hand: everything else. But it would be a very close call. His eyes drifted shut as he swallowed methodically, still toying over that nub of sensation deep inside him, milking Cas for every last little drop of _creme fraiche_. He swallowed until Cas was nothing but a boneless rag, sagging into the opulently decadent excuse for a bed. It made it even nicer to know he'd debauched an ex-angel of the Lord in luxury that was almost too good to be decent.

Crowley sat back, letting Cas sliver out of his mouth with a wet 'pop', and rubbed his cheek against it once more for good measure. "I hope you saved some truffles for me." His voice was richer than the darkest cocoa, and judging by the intense hunger in his eyes, he wasn't going to wait for long to satisfy himself, either. He withdrew his fingers and crawled up over Cas like a hungry wolf, eyes fixed on his.

Cas was boneless and splayed out like a feast for the taking. His eyes looked foggy and unfocused and they smiled up at Crowley with the little crinkles at the corners. He opened his mouth, letting Crowley's tongue in, letting him taste the remains of the chocolate that he hadn't had a chance to finish ingesting yet. 

"Now how do you want me?" he whispered, still feeling the aftershocks of his own orgasm. It was moments such as these that he felt particularly pliant and giving.

Crowley pushed the taste of Cas deep into his mouth, licking the sugary dust from his teeth and poking his tongue into the squishy space below Cas'. It was all soft and delicate and reminded Crowley again of the potential frailty of his beloved's frame.

It was hard to mute the soul-deep hunger which was now loud enough in Crowley to drown out all the rest of existence. He wanted. He wanted now. And higher brain function was becoming increasingly impossible.

"I want you every which way," he admitted. And it was true. God help him but he did. Every way. Twice.

However that was no real answer for right now, so he continued to crawl up his body and knelt astride him, fingers in his hair, holding him in place as he shoved his cock against his lips. "If you're not too full of the high life, I've got more for you to swallow." Another - brusquer shunt - "...and my God but you better be hungry. Put that oral fixation to good use, my gourmand." 

As mentioned, Cas was feeling rather agreeable and giving, so much so that the ran his fingers up Crowley's naked thighs until they came to settle over the globes of his ass, and then he sank the nails into the flesh bed beneath them, pulling the demon forward and down his own receptive throat. He knew he couldn't quite give as well as he got, seeing as humanity was very limiting, but he always made up with enthusiasm for his inconveniently acquired requirement for breathing. He grunted and moaned around the the tumescent piece of meat in his mouth. It was so heavy and silky against his tongue, his tongue which Cas used to probe and lick every vein and skin fold as he tried to cram Crowley as far down as he would go. He smelled of musk and leather and glowing cinders and somehow - yes - freshly baked honeycake again. It was bewildering.

Crowley made a noise of significant pleasure, the sound burbling up in his chest and past his lips. He liked it when Cas mingled the sharp stingy sensation of his nails in with the softer sensations of sex and he had to restrain himself from acting too much on the litany of _yesfuckyes_ that ran through his mind and into the air. "Just like that... just like that... don't be gentle..."

To try and keep himself from snapping Cas' neck he reached over and grabbed one of the truffles, picking it from his fingers with just his teeth and letting it melt slowly in the heat of his mouth. He scraped fingernails over the nape of Cas' neck, legs shaking with the effort of staying still and letting Cas set the pace. It was a supreme effort of self-will, and as such it required he reward himself with another chocolate. The sound he made as he let the the confectionery mingle with the salty taste of sex... It was the perfect counterpoint.

Cas was all lips, tongue, and constricting throat around his cock. With a strategic application of _teeth_. He knew that Crowley liked sex with a bonus on the side, in many cases that bonus was finely tuned pain. He hollowed out his cheeks to suck harder, his moans sending vibrations and shivers through the mouth organ he played so expertly. His body was still pleasantly warm and throbbing from before and he was loving the feel of being filled by Crowley.

It was Cas’ obvious enjoyment and need to please Crowley which hit him more than any of his touches. Although the touches didn’t half help. Once all the truffles were gone, he cradled Cas’ head with a deceptively loose touch, completely at counterpoint to the sudden brutal snap of his hips. There was no need to draw this out - not now - they did have all the time in the world and Crowley was seriously considering going the debonair devil thing about breaking into cultural gems and…

...doing the romantic Paris at night with the devil thing…

So he held him and purred out his appreciation - _snarled_ , more like - and poured into his lover. With the vaguest little bit of a conscience he remembered to make sure he didn’t forget and actually choke him to death, but that was as kind as he could manage.

Cas swallowed and rolled over, pinning Crowley underneath his lithe body. His face hovered just above Crowley’s, eyes alive with a spark, contemplating whether to kiss or to bite, or both. Finally he pressed his mouth to the demon’s, sharing with him the lingering taste of his own juices, like the generous angel he could have once been. Cas smirked into the kiss and tucked his head in the groove of Crowley’s neck.

“Mmmm, nap time,” he announced. “Don’t flounce off anywhere while I’m asleep,” he added, letting on that one time that he knew Crowley better than the demon suspected.

“Tonight, Cas, I’m all yours,” Crowley agreed. “But only if you’ll come graffiti historical artefacts with me tomorrow.”

“I’ve always hated Place de La Concorde,” Cas concurred, murmuring softly.

***

“It suits you, Dean,” Crowley insisted, rearranging the lines of the very nice, very un-Dean outfit he’d picked out for him. It was in a very tasteful navy as a nod to his love of blue denim, and the shirt brought out his greener than green eyes.

“Do I have to be wearing this scarf though?” Dean grumbled, tugging at the artfully styled accessory around his neck. “No offense, Crowley, but - GAY.”

“Stop accusing inanimate objects of having sexual preferences, Dean,” Cas snarked from across the room, where he was adjusting his own finely fitted number. “There’s nothing gay about that scarf,” he added, “It is, in fact - French.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s what Dean means by GAY,” Sam translated, looking rather pleased with his own wardrobe, also selected by Crowley & Co.

“You are so… _American_ ,” Crowley tutted, using the worst insult he could think of. “You just don’t understand Europe. Now if we’re going to get this fairy to play ball, we’re going to have to butter him up a little. You know - speak the _lingua franca_. Do the tango. Jive…”

“Please tell me this is all metaphorical and there isn’t actually going to be any dancing,” Sam complained.

Crowley clapped him on the elbow. “Don’t worry, Moose. I think Dean is more his type than you. Although I’m not ruling anything out, but I assume he’ll at least let you lead for the first dance.”

Les Deux Magots was crowded, but not so crowded that Crowley couldn’t get them a table (apparently the current owner was a ‘customer’ - a fact that surprised no one once they’ve gotten a chance to peruse the menus and Dean casually pointed out that they charged 6 euros for a cappuccino.)

“That’s infernal,” the eldest Winchester hissed.

“It’s nice to be appreciated,” Crowley responded, smugly. 

“I see him.” Cas pointed to a bearded man who had just entered, carrying a cane with an ostentatiously gilded handle, and wearing an aggressively pink caftan (to call that color ‘salmon’ would have been an insult to salmon).

“ _That_ guy was God’s librarian?” Dean asked doubtfully.

“He was always a huge showboat,” Cas shrugged.

"You've met his siblings," Crowley pointed out. "Not all of them are as serious as young Castiel. Although some of them _did_ grow out of the rebellious clothing centuries ago."

"I guess we won't miss him if he runs without paying," Sam pointed out, shielding his eyes. 

Crowley got up from the table and waved expansively to his companions. "Mr. Hadrian: would you be so kind as to join us?"

The man - the angel - turned sharply on his heels and Cas noticed what was definitely spats. He pursed his lips in contemplation of the snazzy shoe wear as the Lord's former personal assistant approached the table. 

"Crowley, I presume." He cast a long look at the demon and gave the rest of the group a peremptory once over, as if they were of no consequence. "I imagined you'd be... taller." Hadrian crossed his legs, his arms resting upon the gilded handle of his cane, as his eyes traveled towards Crowley's crotch. Castiel felt himself bristling.

Crowley's eyes creased in amusement at the blatant appraisal, and when he sat down, he sat down slowly. "I am. Both of those things." 

Not that Hadrian was precisely his cup of tea, but he did so love his ego to be stroked. Amongst other things. "I would like to introduce you to my associates," he said, gesturing to them. "I'm brokering on their behalf. I should hope that you consider this accordingly." He wasn't about to name-drop them. Not when Hadrian could easily get up and run.

"We've come for some information," Sam explained. "Which we believe you are the best person to provide."

Hadrian's attention shifted to Sam, or rather to Sam's shoulders. He appeared to be making geometrical calculations in his head of shoulder to waist ratios, his fingers tapping gently against his cane. He squinted and tilted his head in a way that was reminiscent of Cas in his angelic days.

"Why don't you buy a girl a drink first, butter me up," his eyes shifted back to Crowley. "You brought eye candy. I appreciate the gesture. I do so enjoy looking at works of art." His eyes sparkled and quickly shot towards Dean, and finally to Castiel. "Which one of these is yours?" he asked Crowley again.

"Can it, douchebag," Dean spat out, only to receive a not-so-gentle foot stomping from Cas. Cas looked over at his lover, wondering whether a magical, demonic gag would apparate in Dean's mouth in full view of the French populace.

“The pretty one,” Crowley replied smoothly, completely ignoring Dean’s protestations. “But these are not the bargaining chips. You can look, but you can’t touch, lover-boy. Besides… I have something you want even more than them.”

Sam, meanwhile, was shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He wondered if perhaps they could find a girl-one sometime soon. He was fine with people not being straight and all, but there were days when he literally wished they could have just a _few_ more boobs in the general vicinity. Even evil boobs.

"The pretty one," Hadrian repeated calmly, while his foot did a little dance over his knee. He looked at all three of Crowley's companions again and pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Something I might want even more than them? I'm intrigued. And what's your end game in all this? What do you want from me?" He paused, head suddenly snapping back towards Castiel. "Is _that_ what I think it is?"

Dean's hand defensively shot towards Castiel's arm, but the former angel covered it with his own with an air of cool consolation.

"Dean, it's fine," then facing Hadrian, Cas said, "Yes, I used to be an angel."

"Wasn't talking to you, cheekbones," Hadrian sniped and looked over at Crowley again.

Angels and Demons were really two different flavors of the same giant dick, Dean decided and eyerolled at Sam.

Crowley visibly bristled for all of two seconds before he managed to get his anger back under control. It was there in his eyes and the set of his jaw, before a smile that never got higher than his lips creased his face. “ _That_ ,” he said calmly, “is **mine**. And the property of the King of Hell is not for your grubby, worker-bee paws.” 

And then his voice went lower. The voice of the one who comes to offer you what you most want. The voice of the one who knows your dirty little secrets whispered in the darkest recesses of your heart. “I know where _your_ property is. And I know how much you miss it, too.”

The angel took a long, brown cigarette out of an elegant silver case and lit it, taking a slow puff and blowing a cloud of billowing smoke in Crowley's direction.

"My property? Intriguing." He took another puff, eyes traveling in the direction of Castiel, almost unbidden. "Well, time and looters have taken what was left of my villa in Tivoli. There's barely a rock left upon solitary rock. It's rather depressing, actually. I visited it five years ago." He faced Cas again as he said, "I do have a rather sentimental side." He pivoted towards Crowley again. "You don't mean to offer to rebuild it for me, do you?"

Crowley shrugged. The smoke blew around his face and he didn’t even blink. He’d had worse done. Much worse. “I’m talking about something more important than bricks and mortar. Or wattle and daub. I’m not talking about real estate, Hadrian, but if you want to re-live the good old days when central heating was done with fire instead of a button you are more than welcome to.”

“You peasant,” Hadrian shrugged. “Humanity has evolved technologically but what do you know of true beauty? Instead of Michaelangelo and Boticelli you now have Robin Thicke and gifs.” He shuddered visibly and took another long drag off his expensive tobacco product. “Still, at least there are good genes left in the world,” he nodded casually towards the Winchesters. “Come to your point, Crowley. Much though I would enjoy seeing what’s knocking about in that noggin of yours, I’m not actually a mind reader.”

“We need to fix Heaven,” Dean interjected, feeling fed up to the teeth with this angelo-demonic tête-a-tête.

“Yes,” Hadrian looked bored. “I don’t miss it. Do you?” His eyes sparkled towards Cas again. 

“There are more things on _earth_ than in any version of Heaven, Hadrian, and you should know that yourself, you precocious little shit.” Because Crowley knew he was better. Much better. Better than any number of those ridiculous, feathery fucks. He did. And Cas would not much rather be in Heaven than in his arms, fuck you very much.

“I know where he’s buried,” Crowley added, before this got into too much of a mud-slinging match. “And I know why he’s still _there_ instead of _here_ and draped all over your arm. Because - as I said - I’m the King of the Castle. Now, are you going to help us fix Heaven or shall I ensure that his horrid little soul gets pimped out to every demon with an axe to grind against your kind?”

“You don’t, you wouldn’t, _and_ you’re bluffing,” Hadrian’s voice was calm but Cas could see the trembling of his lower lip. He wasn’t sure where Crowley was going with this. He thought the original plan was to offer up the Mona Lisa, not… whatever was actually happening. “I’ve spent the last two thousand years looking for Antinous. If his remains were still on this planet, I would have found them.”

“You’ve never been to Hell,” Crowley pointed out. “He might be dancing around in whatever version of Heaven the two of you concocted, but his earthly remains are somewhere far different. And you’ve never been able to pull him back down because of it. I guess you pissed off one too many of your brothers and sisters when you left them all with the backlog of angelic filing to do, hmm?”

Crowley opened his palms and showed them to the angel. “You want him? He’s yours. But only when those Pearly Gates reopen for your very tediously petty brood-mates. Now do you accept our terms or not?”

The angel, who had apparently once been Emperor, appeared to contemplate this for a few moments. “Say, I do want to help,” he began carefully, “I didn’t have enough power back then to bring Antinous back to life. What makes you think I got the juice you need to reopen Heaven, to go against Metatron - he was an Archangel. I was merely a cherub, second class.”

“So you _are_ aware of what’s going on, you sniveling douchenozzle!” Dean exploded.

“Dean, not helping,” Castiel hissed at his unruly friend.

“Maybe you came across something? Uhm… the Book of Raziel? Or something else? You had access to a lot of information back when you worked under Metatron. If anyone knows anything - some back door or some loophole or something - it’s you?” Sam’s voice was calmer than the others’. He’d always been the voice of reason, but normally not quite this publicly. Anyone watching or listening in was likely having a field day.

Suddenly, a cloud passed over Hadrian’s face. “I know you.” He rose from the chair. “How about the Book of Go Fuck Yourselves, Winchesters? And you must be Castiel,” he turned towards Cas, an unreadable expression on his face. “Well, kudos to you, mate,” he shot towards Crowley. “But how do you think I’ve stayed alive and under the radar for so long? Let me tell you, it was _not_ by dealing with the fucking Winchesters and their renegade angel buddy over here.” 

He made a move to go, then paused.

“If you’re serious about resurrecting Antinous, you come alone to this location,” Hadrian slipped a business card into Crowley’s pocket, right next to his embroidered handkerchief. “There might be something I can do for you, but I’m not talking to these walking jinxes a moment longer. _Enjoy_ your angel,” he added as he patted Crowley’s lapel and sauntered out the door.

“Well, that went better than expected,” Crowley said, leaning back in his chair and rocking it onto two legs. “And I don’t know about you three, but I personally need a cigarette or twenty.”

“You really think he’s got _anything_ worth our time? I mean… you saw how shaken he was,” Sam pointed out. “The guy’s terrified.”

“He’s not terrified,” Cas said contemplatively. “He’s just being smart. Which is not to say that you should go pissing him off. He once expelled all the Jews from their homeland because they refused to stop circumcising, and that was in _human_ disguise. In fact,” he looked up at Crowley with a playful glimmer in his eye, “I’d say he takes cocks almost as seriously as you do, my love.”

“What the hell did you even offer him?” Dean asked, in a hurry to change the subject. “What is an Anti-whatever?”

“He’s taking _your_ cock _nowhere_ , my little rooster,” Crowley was quick to point out. “And if he looks at you one more time like that then I’m…”

“The deal?” Sam prompted again, before they started making out at the table.

Crowley’s head snapped back to the brothers. “It’s his Achilles heel, to pardon the pun. I offered him the one person he wants most in the world… because--” and he almost spits at this “-- _love_ is the best motivator.”

Castiel’s eyes grew dark with want. He wanted very much to pounce on Crowley, after all, they were in the city of Love, and there was delicious food all around them. “Order the _boeuf tartare_ ,” he whispered.

“Wait, keep your pants on,” Dean butted in. “Not that I’m not into eating the French beef. Let me just see if I follow this: you offered to bring his old human lover back from the dead? Can you even _do_ that?”

“One moment--” Crowley said to Dean, holding a finger up to shush him. “My prince has spoken.” He then clicked his fingers. “ _Garçon… ah, oui. Mon petit chou-chou ont besoin de la boeuf tartare. On peut rapporter quatre, s’il vous plait._ ”

And - thus ordered - he lowered his hand and turned to face Dean. “I’m not going to bring him back. I’m going to give him his bones. Someone was very… put out… by Hadrian’s antics, and they decided long ago to punish him by giving over the earthly remains to the infernal storage system. If I render unto Caesar, then he can do the rest himself.”

“Mmmm, clever boy,” Cas purred into Crowley’s ear, becoming inconveniently aroused, the inconvenience stemming from the close proximity of the Winchesters, because he did not find the mere fact that they were in a place of public consumption had anymore bearing on his behavior these days.

“Jesus Christ, Cas,” Dean mumbled to himself. “Okay, so… fine. He gave you a card - are you planning on using it?”

“I want champagne,” Cas nuzzled up against Crowley’s jaw. “And escargot. Together.”

“Uhm…” Sam tried to do the finger clicking thing. He was ignored for significantly longer but it didn’t stop him trying.

“Oh, you _Philistine_ ,” Crowley purred, turning to face Cas and utterly ignoring everyone else. “Should I order the Krug, or the Belle Epoque?” 

One of the staff finally - reluctantly - came over.

“Can we get two of the beefs to go?” Sam asked.

The waiter went pale. “Ah…?”

“It would be really appreciated,” Sam went on.

“Let… me check.”

“Are you actually _trying_ to kill the staff?” Cas wrinkled his nose at Sam. “Or… oh. Does this make you uncomfortable?” he ran his hand up Crowley’s thigh, while smiling in the most cherubic way possible. “Darling, the champagne?” he reminded his beloved demon.

“ _Darling_ , stop distracting us from saving the world with your apparently insatiable sexual appetite!” Dean snapped. “One would actually think that you two did not spend the entire day humping like bunnies, as it is!”

“And one would be absolutely wrong,” Cas added.

“For you? Anything.” Crowley leaned in and booped noses with Cas, before calling the waiter back a third time to add champagne and snails to the order. 

Sam wrinkled his nose. “Yeah. I mean. I’m happy for you and all, but really, anyone would think you were … you know. Like this was your first time or something. And there’s a time and a place for… _dude not cool_!”

“Oh, was that your foot?” Crowley winked at him. “I’m sorry, you do have such very _large_ feet.” 

Sam pushed his chair back from the table. “Is the meat packed?”

“Why, Sammy, should I have been setting you up as the optional extra in the Hady-Tony sandwich?” Crowley batted his eyelashes.

“I think we’re leaving, Dean.”

“Dude, you had me at ‘circumcisions,’” Dean grumbled and got up from the table. “You kids take your time. Enjoy…” Dean gestured around him. “ _Gay Paris_ ,” he completed with a pronouncedly exaggerated fake French accent.

“Oh, _Dean_ , have you been to the Eiffel Tower yet?” Cas pointed at this friend with genuine excitement. “You’re not afraid of heights, are you? It’s just airplanes?”

“Uh, shut up, Cas,” Dean grumbled.

“You should go. It’s really… tall,” Cas grinned in a way that seemed almost malicious to Crowley, which, in turn, made him sneak his hand into the back of Castiel’s trousers. “We’ll stay here and work on the Hadrian plan.”

This, of course, was when the very put-upon waiter turned up with two packed _boeufs_ , and an expression akin to someone who has smelled the smell. “ _Messieurs_ ,” he said, proffering the take-out.

“You two enjoy, compliments of me,” Crowley insisted. And with a click of his fingers, the two brothers found themselves somewhat displaced. Somewhat cold. And somewhat higher than sea-level.

And then - while the champagne and _escargots_ being spread across the much more vacant table, Crowley decided now was the perfect time to pay more attention to the light of his (after?) life. “You, my little munchkin, better eat up fast. We’re going to have to speed up the tour of the city and I don’t want you to fill up too much on entrees, you won’t have room for the main event…”

The champagne was poured gently into the flutes, and Crowley leaned towards Cas. He pressed the chilled glass to Cas’ lips, tilting very gently and encouraging him to open up. Of course, his other hand was sliding up the inside of Cas’ leg and scratching over the seam to his trousers, sneaking up to join where enough pieces of fabric joined. It just happened to be between his legs. Where he can feel Cas is very much Eiffeling himself. “Open up, sweetie.” 

Cas found that champagne went straight to his head these days, even if he wasn’t having it on an empty stomach. The food was, in a word, superb. He didn’t understand why the Winchesters insisted on remaining Stateside, and living in shit-hovels, when all of Paris could be at their disposal. Clearly, he had hitched his wagon to a brighter star. He leaned into Crowley’s touches and whispered, “Are you feeling celebratory? I hear there is a nice view from the top of Arc de Triomphe.”

***

They had to do it in l’Hotel des Invalides first, right on top of Napoleon’s tomb. Crowley insisted that each one of the coffins also contained demonic and angelic warding sigils on it, not only to make sure Napoleon didn’t get out, but that nothing could get _in_ to raise the warlike spectre ever again.

Then there was the champagne cruise on the Seine. They made love in the toilet, which was surprisingly spacious for being both on a boat _and_ in France. The champagne, of course, was subpar, but Castiel enjoyed the additional movement provided by the rocking of the boat.

Crowley insisted on going down on Cas on the ferris wheel at the Tuileries, before transporting them both to the top of the Notre Dame, where they could make the gargoyles blush. Then, there was the private box at the Opera Garnier. Crowley had to gag Castiel so that he didn’t ruin the second act of _Tosca_ , which was already fraught with sexual advances (and attempted rape) enough. Still, it was rather titillating, watching Cas rolling his eyes into the back of his head as Crowley fingered him open during the dramatic torture scene.

At last they ended up at the top of the Arc de Triomphe.

“I’m dying,” Cas panted, splayed out on the terrace, looking upwards at the star-spangled sky. “I really don’t think I could go another round. Every part of me has turned to molasses. I think you’ve actually found my limit.” He turned his head towards Crowley, smiling weakly. He reached his hand out towards his lover, his eyes beckoning, since his limbs didn’t seem to cooperate.

"You are not dying," Crowley corrected him. "And unlike Hadrian, if you did die I'd be able to bring you back straight away." A pause. "That's not an excuse to risk your pert little posterior. That's what those bumbling brothers are for."

He stalked cautiously closer, pressing against his flank, and took Cas' hand in his own. "If you really want me to, I'll stop." And it surprised even him to find out he meant that. "But my little catamite, how could you resist me when the stars themselves are spelling out 'debauch him'?"

The stars weren't. But he could make it look that way if he had to.

Castiel smiled up at him. "Are you actually going to meet Hadrian alone?" He squeezed Crowley's hand and pulled him closer. "What if something happened to you? I don't think I can bear another wilted flower incident."

“What choice do I have, oh twinkling light in my otherwise mostly hellishly dark life?” Crowley asked. “All I can do is take precautions.”

He scooted closer, nudging a leg between Cas’, and rubbing one butt-cheek in an attempt to encourage him to lift his untrapped leg. The lack of further protestation was enough of a yes for now, he guessed. And he could always be gentle. Really. “I promise I have my own self interests firmly at heart… but it’s sweet of you to worry.”

“I have also learned to be selfish,” Cas whispered, spreading himself out despite the pleasant soreness that has already permeated his body due to the vigorous exertions of the evening. “And needful,” he added, pulling Crowley in closer by his tie, nibbling at his jaw. “And possessive. And… ah…” He stopped talking because he felt a jolt from Crowley’s hand that had positively restorative effects on his body.

Once in place - and with Cas obliging by lifting his leg enough - Crowley took hold of the man’s hips and tugged him over the Arc, nudging slowly into his poor, abused hole. He was more than ready for another round, of course, because Crowley barely let him breathe between them. It was making up for lost time, you see. So much lost time. And even though the man was pliant in his hands, he was still a little guarded due to all the abuse.

“You think Hadrian wants me alone for my body?” Crowley asked, intensely amused by the concept. Even as he pushed inside before any answer could come. Cas still felt amazing - no matter how he took him - and his eyes drifted shut at the warm, welcoming grip to his overly amorous spear. He wriggled a bit for good measure, too, biting his lip at how it felt. “Cas, you’re killing me…”

Cas gasped and arched and sank in around Crowley’s cock, taking him deeper. A very small part of his brain told him he should maybe be taking better care of his bowels. A _very_ small part. He wrapped his arms tighter around his demon’s rib cage.

“Am I? Well…” He kissed along the sinews of Crowley’s neck. “Hadrian is known for having a very… refined… taste.”

“So if the only way for me to seal the deal and get your homeland back for your dickhead siblings… may happen to involve a little lip-to-lip, verbal agreement? If it’s a contract written with an old-fashioned ‘hello’ instead of on paper?” Crowley bared his throat for Cas’ lips, face tilted away to hide his smile. He knew full well he was being nasty, but it served Cas right for all his dragging Dean in as the third wheel. Metaphorically speaking. 

Hands braced on either side, Crowley moved with the sinuous, coiled power of a demon who has already done the frantic nasty multiple times, and now just wanted… wanted something else. Something… _else_. 

“No, it’s…” Castiel contracted the muscles of his ass, clenching Crowley in, his lips is a barely perceptible smirk. “Fine. I know you only love _me_.” He clenched again. “I’ll tear that fucking thing off, you know.” He bit Crowley’s lip, almost hard enough to make him bleed, but not quite. He was too exhausted to play that rough. But Crowley was _his_ , and no one was going to be taking him away, certainly not another Angel-cum-Emperor gone rogue in the world. “So, do what you must,” he concluded, sighing contently at the feel of his lover inside him.

The biting and the deliberate clenching were both very welcome. They sent sharp little tingles through him from head to toe, and Crowley shuddered in glee. He was going to have to file Hadrian under ‘use to make Cas get all growly’. It was an increasingly large folder in his mind.

“Cas… make up your mind, my little cherub. Am I free to wheel and deal, or am I shackled in unlawfully wedded bliss to your lips alone? What if I kiss for business and I enjoy it? Or is there a sliding scale where I have to enjoy it less than five on a scale, or…?”

He pulled Cas’ leg around his waist, then pulled the other one and made Cas lock ankles behind his back. That done, he put a hand in the small of his back and the other between his shoulderblades. With next to no effort, he pulled him upright to sit in his lap, kneeling and using gravity to hold him in place. Well. And demon-magic. He did love demon-magic. 

“I’m a seraph,” Cas growled into Crowley’s ear, bracing his arms against the demon’s chest and pulling himself up so that he was straddling him. He bored down into Crowley’s lap, throwing his head back, his eyes closed, biting his lip to keep from crying out loudly enough to awaken half of Paris. He realized Crowley was trying to rile him up, and it embarrassed him that it was working. Cas felt his entire body flushing from the rush of desire and jealousy. “And you’re mine.” He dug his nails into Crowley’s shoulders. “You can go kiss a thousand more others, but your cock will fall off if you can’t be sticking it in me.” He bucked against Crowley again, for emphasis.

“Right now,” Crowley pointed out, “you’re no such thing. But you’ll always be _my_ angel. My _only_ angel,” he added. 

It was becoming hard to focus again. Hard because he loved hearing that tone on Cas’ lips. It was like listening to fireworks from close up, the ringing stayed long after the initial explosion. The nails made him hiss and bite down on Cas’ neck, dragging Cas bodily up and slamming him back down again. Slow and gentle be damned. 

“You know… if you want something… you should just ask for it.” Licking over the teeth-mark fading on his flesh. “If you don’t ask, you never get. And take it from someone who knows that better than anyone.”

Cas laughed and pressed his neck closer to Crowley’s teeth again. There was something profoundly enjoyable about having the King of Hell hold your jugular in his maw and not tear it out.

“You want me to ask you to wear my letterman jacket, is that it, Crowley? Yeah, I learned what that is. You know how much I love TV.” He ran his nails along Crowley’s shoulderblades. “Maybe you can also wear my class ring as a necklace?” Oh, he knew he would probably pay for that sass, but it didn’t matter because he could sense the apprehension in Crowley, knew the way he always wanted to force Castiel to say the thing that he himself wanted but dared not ask for. It was how they had come together in the first place, after all. He slammed his hips down again, impaling himself further on his lover’s rigid cock.

Crowley wished he didn’t love Castiel quite so much. If he didn’t, then it wouldn’t sort of hurt like that when he turned it all into the same cheap, tawdry nonsense he himself would. Wouldn’t sort of make his heart sink at the glibness in his tone even layered over words that sort of said what he wanted them to. 

“You vulgar little shit,” he accused, grabbing a handful of his hair and yanking his head around to force eye-contact. “There’s no way I’m the one wearing a jacket. I don’t know where you get your ridiculous stereotypes from, but you’re way off mark.”

The hand on Cas’ ass turned to claws, digging into the squishy pillow he was currently pummeling. “Maybe Hadrian was right. _Humans_ today have no sense of _beauty_. The next thing will be matching friendship bracelets and hanging up His and His pink towels.”

“Shut the Hell up, Crowley,” Cas hissed, beginning to ride him faster and harder. “Just because you are too much of an asshole to say it yourself. You love me. I know you do… Ah… _fuck_.” Crowley’s hand had found Cas’ own cock and he thought that was an effective way as any to make him stop talking, so he did, and keened softly into his demon’s neck.

“ _Mine_ ,” Crowley growled. “You little, evil, nasty little…” His hand tightened and his strokes got faster and sharper. He didn’t care how many times Cas had come already tonight, there was always time for one more. “... _hate you_.” But that wasn’t what was under the words. It was anything but hate. Everything but hate. He shifted and suddenly Cas was on his back and Crowley was riding him for all his worth.

He saw stars, literally, and then he shut his eyes because it was just too overwhelming, the sharp pleasure-pain coursing through his body. Cas could feel himself dripping precum onto his own stomach. It was his turn to grab Crowley by the hair and to pull him into a lip-bruising kiss as he allowed him to pummel his willing asshole into oblivion.

“I love you too,” Cas breathed into Crowley’s mouth. “Just you, okay?” And then he figured, it wouldn’t actually hurt him to give Crowley what he knew he wanted. “Promise me. Just you and me. _Promise_.”

Crowley moaned brokenly, everything just… too much. Too good. Too hard. Too hot. Too perfect. He twisted his hand down to bang his fist into Cas’ balls with each hard stroke. He panted noisily against Cas’ lips. Count to three. One… two…

“Deal,” he hissed, and slammed his mouth to Cas’ with all the fierce, overpowering rage and love in his chest. He pushed his tongue into Cas’ mouth, remembering the first and second times they sealed a deal like this. This one was much more to his liking. He kissed until he knew Cas would be feeling light-headed, and then kissed for just a little longer because he still was a bastard underneath it all. 

And as his climax hit him like an unholy wave, Crowley decided to let Cas feel precisely what was going on the inside of his head. And his dick. Partially because it was hot, and partially because he was never going to say it so why not let him feel it instead?

At first, it felt like drowning and suffocating, and it wasn’t from the kiss. As Cas spilled over Crowley’s fist, he was perfectly happy to have his breath stolen away. But what happened next, well… He ached. He burned. And he wanted more of it. He was himself, but he wasn’t, he was Crowley, yet he wasn’t completely that either. He was some kind of a mythical creature, a Crowley-Cas, seeing with four eyes, feeling with two hearts all at the same time. And he was filled with that burning ache, the desire to consume, the desire to merge, and it was with _himself_ \- and it was utterly surreal. And at the same time - beautiful. A gorgeous glow, coming from some place so deep inside, that a skilled magician would be proven abortive in his efforts to find it. It hurt and it healed, simultaneously. It took Cas some time to realize what it was he was actually experiencing, and when he finally did, and he could look down upon his own face with someone else’s eyes, he saw himself crying.

Crowley didn’t mean to make him cry. He didn’t mean to do that. Just meant to let Cas see him how he did: beautiful. Perfect. Wonderful. His. It made his chest tight with mixed pride and worry, and he stroked the tears away with his thumb.

“Don’t,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “You _are_ mine. I don’t give a damn if you’re fallen. You’re perfect, Cas. Perfect.” And he meant that, truly.

He realised that perhaps he’d gone a little bit over the top, so he eased gently out of Cas’ head, pulling the bits of his heart out slowly so as not to leave him bereft in one go. “And if you’re stupid enough to fall for a bad guy…” He didn’t need to go on, he knew. Cas knew. He carried on stroking the tears from his face, then bent to kiss him much more gently on the lips.

“Let me take you home.”

Cas wrapped his arms around Crowley’s neck and held his forehead pressed against his lover’s lips. He wasn’t sure if he was actually floating, or if his body just released an obscene amount of oxytocin and endorphins at the same time - that was the thing about dating the King of Hell. He opened his eyes and looked at Crowley’s worried face.

“I _am_ home,” he replied and burrowed into that pastry-infused, beloved skin again.

***


End file.
